


orizuru

by sonshineandshowers



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Case Fic, Death Topics, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Near Death Experiences, Suggestive Themes, Whump, mention of past drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:22:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23602270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers
Summary: A case brings the team all over the city investigating a flock of birds.For Bad Things Happen Bingo prompt Near-Death Experience.
Comments: 18
Kudos: 49
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> a gigantic thank you to Jameena and CeterisParibus for providing invaluable editing feedback to bring this to life <3 you both - thank you so, so much

He caressed the beak, admiring the beauty in its sharp tip, respecting its purpose and moving on to rub the head. He brushed the delicate green wings, curling his finger all the way down to the tips, brushing the fine surface that could pillow his head for days. Continuing to the tail, he traced the bird to its furthest point until his hand fell off the end.

“One,” he spoke, kissing the bird’s back and releasing it into the water.

The next bird looked identical, equally precise frame designed for ultimate function. His finger ran along its spine and he pressed a kiss. “Two.” It drifted off.

Behind him, a veritable army of birds waited for their moment to rise to the occasion and wade into the sunset. All nascent green. All still.

All paper.

Finest woven origami paper folded into a few hundred cranes. Each one of them meticulously cared for, revered as a loyal companion. Each one of them getting a final kiss before they joined their brethren in the murky Hudson.

It took a few hours to see them all off, and once he had, he sat back watching the wide and long scattering of birds drift, a collection of leaves carried away on the current.

The rich, composite paper held up well and the birds bobbed on the calm waves, not succumbing to the moisture.

He lounged on the bank, watching until all of his flock joined the great beyond.

* * *

Malcolm got one sip into his coffee when his phone buzzed on the countertop.

“Meet us at Pier 25,” Gil indicated, the location faster for Malcolm to get to himself than if he waited for Gil to pick him up first.

“Beach Volleyball?”

“Wiseass. I assure you — something else.” Gil hung up as quickly as he had called, not sparing any time for pleasantries.

Malcolm changed into a suit and collected his keys, rivaling Clark Kent in his speed getting out the door.

* * *

Malcolm arrived to JT standing at the pier’s metal, split railing, looking out into the water. “Where’s Dani?” Malcolm asked, scanning the playground behind JT. “Edrisa?” His gaze continued through the trees and across the rest of the concrete. “The _victim?_ “

JT pointed across the river, the New Jersey bank easily seen on the clear day. “Dani’s at Waterfront Walkway.”

Malcolm could make out the path near the pier on the other side. “The body’s there? That’s Jersey City PD.”

“No.” JT shook his head, his eyes searching for the meaning of _something_ in the bottom of the river, but it was all murky. “I’m still not sure what’s going on. Gotta wait for Gil.”

“What’s with the cranes?” Malcolm pointed at the small gathering and net near the artificial bank flanked with an evidence marker.

“Edrisa said collect them.”

“Where’s Edrisa?”

“Rockefeller Park.” JT pointed toward the next outcropping of land down from them.

“The body’s there?” Malcolm asked, trying to put the haphazard pieces together.

JT’s pulled his eyes from the water and gave Malcolm a warning glare. “Wait for Gil, okay,” Malcolm answered for himself, instantly on to the next question. “Where’s Gil?”

“Coordinating additional officers.”

Malcolm’s eyes narrowed, asking, “Why?”

JT repeated the same look.

“Alright, alright.” Malcolm leaned on the railing and mirrored JT’s pose looking out into the Hudson. He’d have to be patient for answers. Patient.

His fingers twittered against the railing, the sound pinging between them. “Stop,” JT requested.

Malcolm squeezed one hand in the other. Patience.

* * *

Sitting in his car, Gil ran his fingers over his forehead. It was too early in the day to already be nursing a headache. He pressed each team member into a group call, background chatter flying in every direction. “Everybody, _listen_ ,” he commanded, having little patience for interruption. “I’ve got the whole team on here. Edrisa — “

“Collect them all — I’ve got to get you to the next scene,” Edrisa said, her voice muffled like she was covering her phone. “Sorry, Gil — little busy. Hi, everybody! Top of the, oh wow, getting closer to noon by the minute. Anyhow, our victim, maybe?, is floating away as we speak.”

“English?” JT interjected.

“The crane we collected upon arrival at the first scene had cremains inside,” Edrisa explained.

“So someone put their loved one to rest out at sea?” Dani considered. “Why are we here then?”

“Go — go on ahead to South Cove, I’ve got Henry going to North,” Edrisa’s voice was muted as she gave directions to her team again. Her voice got louder as the phone regained her attention, “When someone is cremated, pulverization creates the fine powder that gives cremains their common appearance. Professionals don’t leave chips.”

“You found a chip?” Malcolm asked.

“Several small fragments now. We can’t open any more in the field. I have my team collecting them all to go through back in the lab.” Edrisa’s voice went muffled in the background, “Wait, wait — carefully.”

“So it wasn’t done by a professional,” Malcolm concluded.

“That doesn’t mean murder,” JT indicated. “Someone might have a shoddy funeral home.”

“Mortuary,” Malcolm corrected. “Doesn’t fit with all the effort of the cranes.”

“Grandpa comes home, the whole family folds him up, and releases him for a final journey,” JT suggested in disagreement.

“Can we not make up a life for the deceased?” Dani complained.

“I’m just saying I don’t hop to murder,” JT clarified.

Edrisa’s voice was clear through the phone, “It’s illegal to scatter cremains in the river without a permit from the DEC.”

“You want us to investigate littering?” JT said in disbelief. “And who actually enforces that anyway? This whole thing is crazy.”

“ _Enough_ ,” Gil interrupted, ending the dialogue. “Until we can show differently, it’s suspicious circumstances. As soon as your scenes are cleared, check back in to see if there are any more, then head to the precinct.”

“We’ve collected forty…three so far,” Edrisa indicated. “It might take a little bit for my team to get to you. Please be patient.”

Gil ended the call and rested his forehead against the steering wheel. Patience.

He reached into his glove compartment for ibuprofen and drove to the next scene he had to coordinate. He took a deep breath before getting out.

Patience.

* * *

Malcolm worked at the conference table when he got back to the precinct. One unfolded origami crane had been turned over to them in an evidence bag so far. He looked back and forth between the paper and his notes, focusing most of his energy on writing over analyzing with only a single piece of evidence to look at.

“Doesn’t temperature matter for DNA?” Dani commented to JT, the two of them entering the room.

“Yeah. Would let us know who the person is, though. See if there’s really anything foul play here,” JT suggested.

“How hot would be too hot to get anything?” Dani asked, looking to Malcolm.

Malcolm dipped a lollipop into his mouth, ran it along the inside of his bottom lip, tapped at it with the tip of his tongue, lapping up the sweet cherry flavor. Rolled it across into his cheek, sinking into the pocket, then up under his top lip, only a bit of it fitting before it dove back to the side again and disappeared onto his tongue. Suck, suck, his throat bobbed on a swallow and the lollipop emerged to his lips again, sliding between them.

Gil cleared his throat from the other doorway and Malcolm looked up, only the stick emerging from his lips. “Lose the lollipop,” Gil ordered, bite nipping at the syllables.

Malcolm caught Gil’s frustrated glare, Dani’s raised eyebrow, and JT hiding behind his hand, and Malcolm’s face turned redder than the cherry candy. He pulled the wrapper out of his pocket and walked across the room to throw it in the trash.

Dani smirked at his reaction and repeated her question, “Does cremation destroy our chances of DNA?”

“Cremation temp varies — up to about 1800 degrees. DNA destroyed well before that,” Malcolm explained, his back to them, wavering between taking a 15 minute break and sitting back at the table.

“Edrisa’s team collected 81 birds,” Gil updated. “She said we can head over in about an hour.”

“That’s not enough for full cremains.” Malcolm chose to return to the table.

“Enough?” JT asked, hand still over his face like he should fear the answer to the question.

“Cubic inch a pound. There’s less than a cubic inch in each crane, and 81 pounds is a pretty small person,” Malcolm detailed, piecing out a person into cranes in his head.

“You thought we’d actually manage to collect all of them? They’re into the ocean by now,” Gil indicated.

“No…“ Malcolm started, but Gil’s hand tightened at his hip and Malcolm trailed off, knowing his patience was thin.

“The Hudson’s long enough — how do we even know they got released in the city?” JT said, open to alternative theories.

Malcolm and Dani spoke at the same time — “315 miles,” Malcolm shared, while Dani answered JT’s question with, “We don’t.”

Malcolm stood near the map on the wall, touching it with his finger. Several tiny dots had been placed where cranes had been found. “If they were released in Albany, for instance — “ Malcolm touched the city. “ — there’d be far fewer of them in the same spot. Based on the amount inside and an average weight, we’re probably looking for a few hundred. Probably released close by. This side of the river.” Malcolm traced a line between all of the dots.

JT asked, “You going to point us to where? ‘Cause that’s some Copperfield level — ”

“No. But most of them were on this side. Crossing not so likely,” Malcolm indicated.

“Why not from a boat?” Dani offered another option.

“It could be — we don’t know.” Malcolm shrugged. There were no shortage of boats on the Hudson, so that would do little to narrow their search.

Gil looked across the team, checking in on their faces. “Get dinner. Then we’ll head to Edrisa’s,” Gil directed and returned to his office.

* * *

The team stood around Edrisa’s table, the evidence little and overflowing in front of them at the same time. They knew the cranes came from north of Pier 25, but they didn’t have any witnesses to their release, only a phone call from a bystander indicating they had been found with “drugs in them.” Yet with 81 of them to go through, it was a huge undertaking.

“The paper is a polyester weave. Nice hand feel, crisp folds, and important for this application, waterproof,” Edrisa detailed, holding one of the unfolded papers in an evidence bag between her hands.

“Expensive,” Malcolm noted.

“Lots of fingerprints,” Edrisa shared. “No hits, though.”

“So not trying to conceal identity,” Malcolm added to the profile in his head.

“Any chance for DNA?” Dani brought back their earlier conversation.

“Difficult to get from cremains. My team is still opening them — looking for any teeth.” Edrisa chomped hers together.

JT shied away from the table.

“They’d normally be pulverized as well, but given the lack of adherence to protocol, we might get lucky.” Edrisa smiled, looking around the table.

“Anything else useful?” Gil asked.

“Call me back in uh — “ She looked at a tally in front of her. “ — 53 more.”

They nodded in thanks and saw themselves out. “So, we look for the paper,” Dani selected a next step. 

“Can’t be that many places to buy the fancy shit. In bulk,” JT added as an afterthought.

Malcolm tilted his hand from side to side between them. “You might be surprised.”

“Do _not_ tell me there’s some in your apartment,” JT cautioned.

“Nope. Have some wicked foils, though. When’s your birthday? I’ll make you some kusudamas.”

“Whatever that is, after this case?” JT’s eyes widened at him. “I’ll pass.”

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

He cradled the graceful bird between his hands, favoring its elegant pink wings. He thumbed the bird’s head and kissed its back — “One.” The bird drifted into the water.

He cupped the second bird, running a finger down its long neck, over the lines of the rest of its body to its tail. Kissed its back and set it down to head after its friend. “Two.”

A few hundred started a trail toward the harbor. He picked up 232, brushed its beak, and started to its neck. “Hey, mister!” broke his concentration, tearing him away from his lovely bird. “Whatcha doin’?”

The boy reached into the last of his remaining flock, snatching up one of his birds. “No!” he growled, grabbing the boy’s wrist.

The crane dropped, and the man let go, uninterested in dealing with him. The boy ran screaming, “Mommy!”

The man turned his attention back to his fallen bird companion, setting down the one he had been holding in favor of the one who had been manhandled. “Shhh,” left his lips, finger stroking the bird’s head.

After extra care and a kiss, the bird floated down the river. “232.”

* * *

Malcolm got out of the shower to pick up his phone buzzing on the countertop. He didn’t even grab a towel and had to dry his thumb on a tissue to get his screen to respond to answering the call.

“Get to Pier 40,” Gil instructed, not even saying hello.

“More?” Malcolm asked.

“Yes — they’re scattered all down the river. I gotta go,” Gil’s voice was short, only offering the point and no more.

Malcolm toweled off and got dressed, not bothering to dry his hair before he went out the door.

* * *

They wound up at a network of scenes across the city, carried by the current. Wherever the birds were found, they looked for any additional evidence, collected them, and moved to the next scene.

Malcolm’s hair drooped into his face every time he kneeled, the soft strands tickling his eyelashes and blocking his vision. He blew them away with little puffs of air, briefly clearing his sight only to have them fall again. With the temperature, humidity, and no product, his hair was a puffball of misdirected strands constantly needing to be tamed.

Malcolm returned to his feet and tugged his hair back, holding on an extra second to bask in the tension. He reluctantly let go and transferred his grip to a pen from his jacket pocket.

“Any ideas on the different colors?” Dani asked.

“Different people, probably.” Malcolm ran his pen along his jaw, letting it dance among the prickles in his beard.

Dani stood from where she was crouched near the grass.

“They’re taking great care to do this,” Malcolm shared the thought as his head shifted around all the attributes he’d learned so far. “If it’s murder, they’re spending a huge amount of time respecting the deceased. Packaging them into beautiful gifts of hope, resilience.”

“It’s creepy.” Dani looked toward the next evidence tent. “Two passings, one family? Also not very likely.”

“Yeah, the suspicious circumstances theory is looking more promising.” Malcolm tapped his pen against his lips.

“Couldn’t they have found a different hobby? Why spend all this time when there are easier ways to dump a body?” Dani gestured around to the many other options just within their sight lines.

“It’s not about the kill. It’s about love. They're spending all this time after with ashes, not mutilating their bodies. And we still don’t know it’s murder, just…suspicious.” The end of his pen dipped into his mouth and back out again.

“You don’t know what they did to them before.”

“Brutal wouldn’t fit. Poison, drug,” Malcolm offered, chewing the pen cap.

“Why hide how they died?”

“Because it’s hard to fit a body into cranes?” The pen paused at the corner of his mouth.

Dani looked at him, bantering his dry teasing right back. “That your secret talent?”

“No — number of days I can go without sleeping.” He smirked by the end, not able to keep a straight face any longer.

“No shit.” She tapped his arm. “There’s lollipops in the car, or I have gum. Either is better than that.” She pointed at his pen.

He took the pen out of his mouth and hid the damage back in his jacket pocket.

Dani tipped her head at him. “You good?”

“Energy.” He put one of his hands in his pocket, the other tugging at his hair. “I’ll uh, take the gum.”

* * *

JT was first back to the precinct. He started research on missing persons and reports of any activity in the area of Pier 40 and north. He called Malcolm back into the precinct when he found something of interest.

“Both you and Dani get me today.” Malcolm smiled, tapping JT’s desk.

JT gave a smirk, dismissing his exuberance. “Au naturel?”

“What you got?” Malcolm moved behind him without comment.

“Look at this.” JT pointed at his screen.

Malcolm looked over JT’s shoulder at a police report. So perhaps not a boat. “We need to go.”

“Gil first,” JT reminded of the chain of command they needed to get a green light from before heading into the field.

JT walked to Gil’s door and Malcolm followed.

“1-0 got called out to Hudson River Park last night on a report of a guy who grabbed a kid. Officers arrived, man was gone. Boy’s fine — wrist grab,” JT recounted from the report.

Gil looked at him and rolled his fingers toward him to get on with the point.

“Boy said he picked up one of the man’s birds,” JT quoted the report.

“Take Bright. When Dani gets back, I’ll have her get the camera footage,” Gil instructed, and JT turned for the door.

Malcolm hung back an extra second. “You okay, Gil?”

“I have twelve scenes between here and the harbor, and that’s just from today. Never mind yesterday. Brass is giving me an earful. Want proof of foul play." Gil rubbed his temple with his fingertips.

"Tell them there's a whole lot of fowl involved."

"Bright, if your words will not lessen my headache, consider not using them,” Gil snipped.

“My ice pack’s in the freezer in the kitchen. Take it. Close your eyes a few minutes. It’ll help.”

Gil gave a slight nod. “Go.”

Malcolm grabbed a pouch out of his desk and swung by the bathroom, taming his hair with some gel before they headed out.

* * *

Malcolm and JT walked down Pier 62, following the information they had found in the police report. The sun baked them into their clothes, unforgiving. Malcolm started sweating at his hairline, JT the smarter of the two in shucking his jacket before they left. Malcolm didn’t want to know what his shirt looked like underneath his jacket.

“For them to make it downriver, he would’ve been at the end of the pier releasing them,” Malcolm noted, taking them on a walk to the furthest point.

Malcolm sat at the end of the pier, sticking his legs through the split rail fence. JT stood beside him, arms on the railing.

“They’re pre-made,” Malcolm explained. “This is too visible for him to be depositing ashes into paper.”

“Less efficient carrying them, though. So he would have needed a _big_ bag to get them down here.”

“So he takes his bag and sits here at the end — “ Malcolm mimed the behavior with his hands. “And dumps them all in the water?”

They agreed, both of them saying, “No,” at the same time.

“Police report said he took _a_ bird. Kid comes across a few hundred birds? Would’ve been the first thing out of his mouth.” JT held his hands together out over the water.

“You’re better at this kid thing than you think.” Malcolm looked up at JT.

JT gave him a side-eye glance not to press further, so Malcolm got back to the case.

“If he dumped them, they would’ve been tossed in all directions and considerably more damaged. Waterlogged contents even. Just like the precise preparation, he’s taking care releasing them.” Malcolm reached to the concrete beside him. “So maybe he sat, picked up a bird, and set it in the water.” Malcolm put his arm between the railing.

“Would take a _really_ long time.”

“Looks like someone putting toys on the river. Practically rubber ducky level of danger.”

“Why grab a kid, then?” JT questioned.

“Threatened his treasures. Must have let him go easy enough — no one attacked the guy.”

“Are you — “

Malcolm shook his head. “No, it’s not okay. It could have been a lot worse.”

JT scoffed. “Yeah, could be swimming down river.”

Malcolm took a panoramic look across the water. “He’ll come back.”

“Let’s see if Gil will put a detail out here.” JT tapped his shoulder. “Up you go, Phoenix.” JT offered a hand to pull him up.

Malcolm gave him a puzzled head tilt.

“Method actor.”

“Oh.”

Malcolm brushed off his pants and they made their way back to the car. The air conditioning was _heavenly_.

* * *

The whole team rested around the conference room, a little worse for wear. Dani’s nose and forehead pinkened a bit after hours in the sun without sunscreen. Malcolm knocked a hard candy from Gil’s office around his mouth, clunking against his teeth, needing some place to put his wiry energy. JT covered sweat stains on his t-shirt with his leather jacket, even though it was definitely too hot for it. Gil held a bottle of cold water in his hand, resting more on his face than in his mouth.

“So we setup at the pier, and wait,” Malcolm stated, candy tucked in his cheek.

“I setup a rotating car at the pier,” Gil corrected, taking a sip of his water.

The candy rolled over to Malcolm’s other cheek. “That’s what I meant.”

“Uh-huh.” Gil pointed a warning hand at Malcolm and gave him a stern order, “You do _not_ go out there by yourself.”

Malcolm gave a small nod. “I got it.”

“Boss, there’s a bunch of piers in Hudson River Park,” JT added, a fact they were all very familiar with.

“Bright says he’s methodical. He was seen at Pier 62, we wait at Pier 62,” Gil listed off systematically.

“Is that the best — “ JT started, but Gil cut him off.

“Until we confirm it’s a murder, I can’t spare more people.” Gil pointed at the ceiling to his metaphorical superiors. He took a moment to put a pleased smile on his face for the team. “A lot of great work today. Go home. You all look beat.”

“You too, Gil,” Dani pressed, sharing his stress was showing.

He nodded at her in return.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

Malcolm needed to get rid of some more energy before he even considered going home. So he left the precinct and walked down to Pier 60, perusing its banks. He was in the clear — it wasn’t Pier 62. He wouldn’t stray north and get himself in trouble with Gil.

Overheated in the sun, he realized he should have left a few pieces of his suit behind or at least gone home and changed. He traced the full outside of the railing, saw backpacks, over the shoulder bags, but no one who had a gaggle of birds — maybe it was too early.

He kept walking the greenway to Pier 59, completing the same loop of inspecting patrons, seeing if they had any birds in tow. No one. Everyone looked like they were enjoying the New York sunset, getting away for a few minutes on a summer night. No one stood out. Not that he knew what a bird-toting pack looked like.

He continued a quarter mile to Pier 57 and started around the wood-topped railing, his fingers playing in the metal vertical rungs. He looked out at a yacht moored on the opposite bank and was ready to turn around when he glanced down, something caught his attention, and he stopped.

Nestled below the end of the pier amidst the posts and darkened concrete was a hunched over man with a large, insulated fabric cooler floating on top of the water. Short-sleeved plaid shirt and khaki pants, dressed nicely for the occasion. Close enough to reach through, introduce himself, and strike up a conversation.

“Bright! What did I tell you?” Gil hollered. Malcolm whipped around to find Gil charging toward him, target firmly locked in his crosshairs with no chance to abort.

Had he followed him? “Gil, no — _stop_ ,” Malcolm begged, throwing his hands out in front of him. Their suspect was so close he could touch him.

The only thing that ended Gil’s charge was the railing at the end of the pier. Gil stood against it, his fist pounding on top. “I told you _specifically_ ** _not_** to do this. We have a _deranged_ bird murder suspect, and you decide to go give chase? You are _done_. _F—_ “

Gil went silent, his eyes widening, onslaught gone.

A splash into the water, and the suspect was swimming down to the next pier in a flurry of practiced kicks and strokes. The cooler of birds floated their way out into the middle of the river.

On a split second decision, Malcolm hopped the fence and jumped in after him.

“Bright!” Gil called, and vaulted over the railing to hit the water next.

Three men, out for a swim in the Hudson.

None of them in proper swimming attire.

Even in the day’s heat, the water was chilly. Malcolm’s layers pulled him down, and he struggled to keep up with the man freestyling in front of him. His arms lacked the mobility to achieve a full forward stroke. Every ounce of extra fabric fought to sink him toward the bottom. He ditched his jacket, giving him significantly more freedom.

They made up a formation of wayward geese, their suspect taking them on a wild chase. Were they going to take a detour to Jersey? He and Gil were both in good shape, but _man_ , this was a long swim. Malcolm’s legs burned from the effort.

Gil swam faster, coming in from the left. Maybe he’d get to the suspect first. Malcolm kicked harder to catch up, almost had him in reach —

Out of the corner of his eye on raising his head for breath, he saw Gil stop moving. Sputter. Cough. Arms hitting the water at his sides instead of in front of him. “Gil!?” he called, his eyes moving between their fleeing suspect and him.

More coughing. Had he taken on water?

Darting eyes. Suspect — Gil. His heart pulled him back to Gil. He swam the 15 feet to reach his friend, his kicks powering him even faster than before.

Gil’s shallow breaths rattled in his chest. His arms waded around him, treading water, but he was having a hard time keeping himself up. Malcolm immediately leaned him back into his chest in a rescue hold and started one-armed paddling back toward shore. The world’s slowest backstroke.

“— breathe,” Gil gasped out.

Malcolm’s head went half under water and bobbed back up. Water plugged and flooded out of his ears, warping and twisting sounds. “Does your chest hurt?”

“No — ” Gil’s breaths were shallow, too shallow to get any meaningful air.

Gil’s complexion was ashen, his breathing labored. Over twenty minutes chasing the suspect, they’d gotten far enough that it was such a fucking effort to get them both back to shore. _Legs, legs, legs,_ he remembered, but his were short, and Gil’s were not, and they were one whole tied up mess Malcolm was trying to steer, and rescue training at swim lessons had been a long time ago, and —

Each stroke felt like Malcolm was towing a ton. He hoped one pull toward shore didn’t equal two pulls toward the river. Gil wouldn’t make it if he couldn’t get him to help. Help, help, they needed — “ _Help!_ “ Malcolm shouted, continuing the trek.

Gil’s head flopped against his chin, struggling with the simplest task of getting breath. Water splashed up Malcolm’s nose, sloshed in his mouth, and he just spit it out, trudging onward. _Save Gil — Save Gil_.

Malcolm’s hand slammed into the concrete wall of the walkway behind him, not realizing he had reached the shore. Onlookers had gathered, having heard his shouting and seen his struggle in the water. “I need help!” Malcolm hollered.

A man and a woman reached down. Malcolm pushed, and they pulled Gil out of the water by the armpits and over the wall, a huge splash of water going up onto the concrete walkway with him. Malcolm pushed himself up onto the walkway after him, bringing along another pool of water.

Malcolm patted his pockets and realized _fuck_ — his phone. He looked to the man who had helped Gil out of the water and commanded, “Call 9-1-1.” 

“I already did,” the woman who had helped Gil out of the water responded. “They’re sending police and an ambulance.”

Malcolm cupped the side of Gil’s face, feeling his slow breaths under his thumb. His pupils were pinpoints, his eyes lacked any sort of focus. “You’re gonna be okay, Gil,” Malcolm promised.

“We work with the NYPD — I need to use your phone. Please,” Malcolm requested, hand outstretched, attention still on Gil. Gil’s inhales sounded like rubbing against the washboard. Malcolm told Gil, “Stay with me.”

Gil’s badge clearly visible on his waist, the woman unlocked her phone and handed it over.

It took multiple tries of Malcolm getting his fingers dry enough rubbing on spared spots of concrete to call dispatch. “I have a 10-13, need an ambulance to the greenway south of Pier…” He looked to the railing beside them. “51, it’s for the Lieutenant.” 

Gil’s arms moved lethargically, reaching up for his chest. Malcolm undid the top buttons of his shirt and stretched down the neck of his t-shirt underneath. He held the pulse point at his wrist, counting.

“The closest backup is Pier 62,” dispatch informed.

“Yes, I need them too. The suspect they’re looking for is swimming in the Hudson. South from my location.” Gil’s eyes closed and his head lolled to the side. “Gil — Gil.” Malcolm tapped his cheek, trying to bring him back to him.

Malcolm frantically checked his breathing and pulse again, all a crawl slower than the one back to the shore, but still there. “Gil — just keep breathing,” Malcolm encouraged, squeezing his hand.

Gil wasn’t presenting like a stroke or heart attack. He was the wrong color, his body not getting enough oxygen. His breathing and pulse were as slow as the world moving around Malcolm. Everything seemed to be such an effort.

Malcolm took in all the information he had and made an educated guess. If he was wrong, nothing worse would happen. It just didn’t make any sense. “NYPD — Does anyone have Narcan!” Malcolm yelled. “Narcan!”

A guy back toward the pier perked up and jogged down, unboxing it and putting it in Malcolm’s hand.

Malcolm sprayed the Narcan into Gil’s nose. He started coming back around in rapid effect, his eyes opening a little. “Don’t try to move, Gil,” Malcolm said, guiding his arms and legs to roll him into a recovery position on his side. Malcolm looked toward the path for the paramedics and barked, “ _Dammit_ , where’s the ambulance?”

Gil kept gasping below him — there never seemed to be enough air.

Malcolm looked between Gil and the path the paramedics would take to get there. Gil — path. Gil — path. Gil — path. If overdose was truly the problem, Malcolm wanted Gil to be at the hospital before his symptoms tipped more severe again. But with time in slow motion, it felt like it stretched to forever for help to arrive.

Malcolm just didn’t understand. Gil wasn’t taking anything. He wouldn’t take it. He wouldn’t even give himself a few minutes to relax with the level of coordination required for this case, never mind impair himself. He’d chewed out Malcolm several times for touching drugs. It wasn’t him.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Malcolm kept soothing Gil’s shoulder.

A raging undercurrent of _just stay with me_ clung between their sodden bodies.

* * *

Back at the precinct late in the evening when his boss had been rushed to the hospital was _not_ how JT pictured his day going. Having a full fabric cooler of birds to go with it and no suspect in custody was the icing on the cake.

“There’s a whole pile of birds,” JT indicated, sitting across the conference table from Dani, back to the door, fresh photos between them.

“How did he sound?” Dani asked.

“Distraught.” JT slammed the table with his fist. “I swear, if he got him killed — “ He didn’t finish the statement, knowing the guy was already tearing himself to pieces. “One of us should go down there.” And more quietly, “I’m afraid of him being alone right now.”

Dani squeezed JT’s shoulder. “I’ll go. Call me if you find anything before I get back.”

“Tell him.” JT took a long pause, not really sure what was appropriate for the situation. “Hang in there.”

Dani nodded and left, grabbing a few lollipops from her desk drawer on the way.

* * *

Arms resting on either side of a chair, head dipped toward his lap, wet strands in front of his face, Malcolm was alone. There was no one there to hold him up, no one there to support his shaking frame, no one there to tell him things would be okay.

Nothing was okay.

Gil had been whisked away to the emergency department, and he’d been forced back, relegated to a chair designed to reinforce the pain of waiting.

Everything hurt.

The crick in his neck, the twinge in his back, every bit of his suit still sopping wet, every inch in his body _screaming_ he had fucked up.

He’d killed Gil.

He was dead. Dead dead. So fucking dead Jackie would meet him, rise, and strangle Malcolm to join them.

What did he do?

A hand rested on Malcolm’s shoulder and he flew to standing, flipping back around to see who was attacking him.

Dani?

Dani.

“Bright?”

He hugged her, his soaked frame releasing all of its moisture into her, taking her comfort in return. His head tipped onto her shoulder, his forehead against her collarbone. “I killed him,” he sobbed, shaking.

Dani guided him as far away from the other emergency room waiters as she could, shielding him from the rest of the room with her body. “You didn’t. It’s okay, Bright.”

Dani kept him on his feet, quietly rocked him in a dance she’d previously denied him, and tried to offer some semblance of comfort.

He had someone.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

Dani got Malcolm back into a chair in the waiting room and sat beside him. Malcolm’s head rested on his hand, thinking through the black hole of images that swam in it.

The paramedics had found it — a needle site on Gil’s calf. Jabbed by the suspect while Gil had been standing next to the railing. A moment of pause before everything had gone to hell and the suspect had jumped into the water.

Malcolm rubbed his forehead. Why hadn’t he pushed Gil away from the railing? This could have all been avoided. His thoughts even made it as far back as never going to the pier in the first place.

An overdose later, they knew the suspect was in possession of narcotics. Perhaps that was the method of death for the crane victims. Perhaps it was only a way to subdue Gil.

Gil’s anger and proximity must have encroached on his territory, making him feel threatened. Nothing about his process preparing victims for sendoff had presented aggression. Only infringing on that ritual had.

Where was the man now?

Malcolm turned to Dani. “You can’t stay,” Malcolm pointed out, knowing Dani was a lifeline in figuring out who had done this to Gil. _You did this to Gil_. Finding the man who folded birds.

“I have clothes for you in my car, and I’d like to call your sister to sit with you,” she shared.

Head back bobbing in the waters of the Hudson, Malcolm wasn’t following. “You got me clothes? How did you even — “

“They’re mine. Gym stash. But beats Giorgio Bounty.”

Malcolm just looked at her, not cracking a hint of a smile. “Thank you.”

She unlocked her phone. “Here — call Ainsley.”

He looked at the phone, but didn’t press any buttons.

“Do you want me to do it?”

He felt dumb. Of all the knowledge he had in his head, he didn’t have what he needed in that moment. “I don’t know her number.”

“I can have JT pull it.” She had _so_ much patience he didn’t.

Malcolm nodded.

“You okay here for a minute? I’ll get the clothes.”

He nodded again.

* * *

Dani’s sweatpants fit him well, only tight around the waist and hips. Her sweatshirt had stretched out thumbholes, which he found solace in, hiding the bulk of his hands from the rest of the world. He found a few lollipops in the sweatshirt pockets and hid one between his teeth. He pulled the hood over his head, cloaking his eyes in darkness.

“Ainsley’s here,” Dani indicated, crouching in front of him.

Malcolm reached out a hand in thanks, and Dani held it through the sweatshirt. “I’ll be back when I can.”

“Hi, brother,” Ainsley sat beside him.

He tipped his head onto her shoulder, welcoming the arm that went around his back.

* * *

When Dani reentered the conference room, it was like JT hadn’t moved. They were in double digits of hours worked, and his game face remained strong.

“How is he?” JT asked.

“Gil? No word yet. Bright? Ainsley’s with him.” She brushed her curls back from her face and sat across from him.

JT nodded. Less information than he was hoping for, yet still trending positive.

“Two hundred ninety-five birds,” JT shared. “Yellow. None of them lost into the river.”

“Higher likelihood of DNA,” Dani highlighted perhaps the only positive in the situation.

“Yep. Edrisa’s team is opening them now.”

“Let’s get on camera duty. Jackass has gotta be on film.”

They turned their attention to their laptops, clicking keys the only sound that filled the room. They missed their candy-toting fact machine and the watchman who trailed after him.

* * *

Gil was resting when Malcolm walked into his hospital room, his eyes closed back to the last state Malcolm had seen him in. But he didn’t have the ashen appearance that he couldn’t breathe, didn’t emit haggard gasps as he struggled. Wasn’t soaking wet. He slept.

Peacefully.

Malcolm sat in the chair beside him, a carbon copy of the seats in the waiting room. But in this one, he felt the cushion supporting him a little bit better, had the wherewithal to know Gil would be okay, and somehow, it didn’t hurt at all.

All his pain was trapped inside.

It was harder to ignore.

* * *

It was grainy as hell in the dusk, but on an NYPD cam, they got a clear shot of their suspect entering the park with a fabric insulated bag over his shoulder. _And_ got a hit through facial recognition. 

Top of the morning, Dani and JT wound up at the office of a small palliative care collective asking to see Leonard Manzi.

“I’m afraid he’s out sick today,” the receptionist told them.

Dani looked through the glass to the work area behind the woman. “That’s a lot of origami. Real nice,” she said.

“Oh, Leonard made it for me,” the woman responded. “He makes a lot of beautiful pieces.”

“Did he ever make you a crane?”

“Those are his favorite. Free the living.” The woman shared a large smile as if the bird would take flight and lighten their spirits.

“Could you give us a list of common mortuary services you recommend?” JT asked.

The woman handed over a pamphlet. “Only the best for our patients.”

* * *

Malcolm shooed Ainsley away when he knew it was time for her to be at the station. She left behind her phone so he would have something to do while he waited and told him to call her at the station if anything changed. The care package of fresh clothes she brought sat at his feet.

Phone in hand, Malcolm could keep getting updates from Dani and JT to settle his nerves. Malcolm sucked on his brunch, a lemon-lime lollipop from Dani’s gifted stash between his teeth.

“He’s not at home, not at work,” JT shared.

“He’s going to do it again,” Malcolm said.

“What?” Dani asked.

“Tonight. Setup at the piers — he’s going to do it again.” Malcolm suggested. “Just…be subtle.”

“We have more stops to get to before we jump there,” JT said. JT paused a moment as if something else had drawn his attention. “Hey, bro, let us give you a call back — have a lead on the mortuary.”

* * *

The mortuary was nondescript with a basic entryway made for short interactions. Business cards near a shelf listed Van Griffiths as the mortician, the link to Leonard that had brought them to that mortuary. Dani pressed a buzzer, and the mortician walked out to see them.

“We’re looking for Leonard Manzi?” Dani explained.

“He-he’s not here,” Van stuttered. They didn’t need Malcolm to tell the guy was anxious.

“Can you — “

“I d-didn’t have anything to do with this-s. He just borrows the furnace,” Van bent without them asking anything.

“Borrows?”

“I only let him use the space. I had nothing to do with how the people died.” Van waved his arms in front of him, nixing the association.

“Sir — “

“I thought he was cremating road kill. I’ve known him since we were kids.”

JT and Dani looked at each other, not believing the story. Somehow, of all the ridiculous stories they had heard before, it might not make their top ten. They’d have to talk about it in the car.

“I didn’t know until they released the bulletin on the news.”

“How’s that?” JT asked.

“Lenny’s always folding,” the mortician pointed to his back room. “Just a second.”

The man produced a fabric cooler of orange cranes.

* * *

Dani and JT got a warrant for all of Van’s records, finding five deceased people whose ashes were released to Leonard in the past year. Cause of death included congestive heart failure, pancreatic cancer, liver failure, breast cancer, multiple sclerosis. If they assumed each color of crane was a different person, they had one set of cranes unaccounted for. One set expected to be released at dusk.

They brought Van in for questioning, the man’s story taking on much more water than the birds ever did. He might not have actively participated in the killing, but he was involved in bringing the people’s bodies back to the mortuary for Leonard to work with. Inside the mortuary, they expected Leonard took over given the subpar pulverization and lack of any description Van could provide. Van may have trained him, but it didn’t appear as though he’d stuck around to supervise.

They called Malcolm, giving him an update.

“He’s lying — he had to have done all of the transportation and paper trail. If people just went missing, someone would have noticed,” Dani pointed out.

“They were all terminally ill, so their deaths were expected. Manzi killed them, Griffiths transported them, Manzi prepared them for release,” JT listed.

“Killed with what?” Malcolm asked.

“Morphine, according to Griffiths,” Dani shared. “We’ll see what comes back from Manzi’s apartment.”

“Did he see it happen?” Malcolm probed.

“No.”

Malcolm listened to all of their discourse, drawing his own conclusion. “These are all compassionate deaths."

"New York doesn't have a Death with Dignity Act,” Dani said.

Malcolm ran a hand over his face. A bill had been introduced several times but had never passed. “He made his own version.”

“You think this is assisted suicide?” JT sought clarification.

“Maybe.”

The line went quiet, the stalemate of Malcolm not having anything else to ask, and Dani and JT not having anything else to say. They all knew the next step was to head back to the river.

“How’s he doing?” Dani asked, her concern breaking through the line.

“No change. Sleeping.” Malcolm sighed.

“He’s gonna be fine, Bright.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Malcolm hung up, retrieved Gil an extra blanket, and placed it across his legs, Malcolm starting to feel the chill of the air conditioning himself.

* * *

Gil’s hand stirred and Malcolm sat up straighter in his seat, looking over his relaxed brow and observing the steady breaths from his chest. Rise — he’s just sleeping, right? Fall — he’s okay, he’s okay.

Malcolm returned his gaze to Gil’s face to his brown eyes looking at him. “Hey, kid,” Gil got out, his voice raspy from lack of use.

Gil’s hand pulled out from under the covers, and a frown wrinkled his once peaceful face. “Where’s — “

Malcolm reached into a bag resting on the side table. He put the ring on the tip of Gil’s finger, and Gil slid it on the rest of the way with his thumb. Gil held his hand out, palm up, in an offering, and Malcolm slid his hand into it.

“I can get you water, another blanket, the nurse — “

Gil squeezed his hand. “Sit.”

“Jello! Or soup, or pudding, or — “

“Kid.”

“I could have Ainsley sneak in contraband — “

“I’m fine.”

Malcolm looked away, still not believing it.

“I could go for a hug.”

Gil pulled him in, reached for the back of his neck, and released the tension holding back his tears. “I thought I _killed_ you,” Malcolm whispered, a tear trailing down his face.

“Too stubborn.”

Malcolm retreated and sat back in his chair, hiding his face in his hands.

“What’d he stick me with?”

“Likely morphine. Enough to send you into OD.”

“Yeah, I got that part. Didn’t get to look at my leg before your ass jumped in the river.”

“It was…bad,” Malcolm oversimplified. He’d just break down again if he talked about it any further.

“Team bring him in yet?” Gil didn’t seem to want to dwell on it either.

Malcolm shook his head. “No.”

“Can I use your phone? Talk to them?”

Malcolm unlocked and handed over the phone in his hands. “It’s Ainsley’s. Both of ours are…” He shrugged. “Kinda ruined.”

Gil smirked.

“Still no bird man yet, bro — two more hours until we can go out,” JT answered the phone.

“Maybe you need extra eyes,” Gil responded.

“Boss — “

“I’m good. Tell me what you’ve got.”

There was a pause, but then JT moved forward with his request. “Leonard Manzi, palliative caregiver. Accomplice Van Griffiths, mortician.”

In the quiet room, Malcolm heard both sides of the conversation from his seat. Malcolm jumped in, “He has one more person’s remains in hand that have yet to be laid to rest. He’s going to go back to release them.”

“What do you need?” Gil asked JT.

“Foot power. Coverage on all of Hudson River Park at sunset.”

“Let me make a call.”

“Feel better, Gil,” Dani’s voice came over the line.

Gil smiled. “Thank you. Keep me updated.”

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

When Gil got off the phone with his superiors, he noticed Malcolm’s fidgeting feet, hiding hands. Malcolm chewed on his tongue in lieu of any other distraction.

“You want to go.” Gil realized, smiling at him.

Malcolm looked at the window. “Yes.”

“I’m fine. Go — just stay with backup.” He gave him the out to get him on his way. “And hold back on the jumping in rivers. That’s a _definite_ no.”

Malcolm looked to Gil, knowing he had already fucked up and disappointed him, and that had landed Gil right where he lay.

“We’ll talk about it when I get out of here.” Gil waved his hand like it wasn’t something to worry about at the moment. “Listen to Dani and JT, stay with them, and you can go.”

Malcolm nodded, squeezed Gil’s hand, and promised him, “I will.” He paused a moment and asked, “How’d you know where I went?”

“Instinct. Tailed you.”

Malcolm kept looking at him, not believing that was the whole story, as Gil would have located him earlier.

“I _found my friend_ , and somehow, he was in Hudson River Park.”

Malcolm gave a small nod, thinking he and Gil might need to redefine what _emergency_ meant, but in the light of the disaster that had occurred, it seemed unimportant at the moment.

Gil smiled, and Malcolm did his best to do the same, quirking the corner of his mouth. “Go get ‘em.” Gil looked him over. “You _might_ want a change of clothes first.”

Malcolm tilted his head from side to side, gave Gil’s hand one more squeeze, and left the hospital.

* * *

Malcolm found Leonard on a sweep of Pier 60, sitting between the white railing and the water in a similar pair of khaki pants and solid blue button-down. Called his position into Dani and JT and waited for their backup officers to reposition. Approached him when everyone was ready to advance as a team.

“Hi, Leonard,” Malcolm sat down on the end of the pier, sticking his legs through the bottom of the railing, and his arms through the vertical bars.

“Stay back,” he commanded, not looking at Malcolm.

“Leonard, I know you’re just trying to help,” Malcolm flooded his voice with kindness, patience.

“Don’t come near me,” he warned, his voice cautious.

“I’m not going to interrupt you. I don’t mean any harm. Just want to sit and have a chat.”

“Keep your distance. Down the bank.”

Malcolm pulled his limbs back through the railing, scooched down further on his butt, and stuck his limbs through toward the river again. “What can I do to show respect?”

Leonard’s fingers traveled over the bird in his hands, touching on every aspect of its grace. “Watch the cranes swim into the sunset. Think of Joan as vibrant as her paintings, capturing the gleam of life sparking through her face.”

“She was an artist.”

“A painter. Collage mixed with acrylic.” His fingers petted the wings.

“How about Henry?”

“A janitor who watched after those high school kids like they were his own family. _Please_ — this is Joan’s time," he complained, steering Malcolm away from discussing the other deceased.

“I understand.” Malcolm held up his palms in defense, not that Leonard could see them.

Leonard cradled the bird between his hands, kissed its back, and released it into the water. Malcolm could see JT coming closer from his left. “They deserved to die the way they wanted.”

“So you helped?”

“Yes.”

“My mom was very sick. Had a really hard time breathing toward the end. We did everything we could to keep her comfortable, but that rattle just shook the house,” Malcolm recounted. Then after far too long fighting, everything stopped.

“Joan couldn’t travel, and then she couldn’t paint.” Leonard picked up another bird and rubbed its beak.

“Jackie couldn’t speak. Could look in her eyes and see pain.” Malcolm's chest clenched thinking about it, and his fingers idly flexed.

“Joan asked for another way.”

“NYPD!” JT hollered, and Leonard stilled. “Put your hands up.”

Leonard brushed the bird’s blue wings, pressed a kiss into its back, and set it into the water. A tear rolled down his cheek, and he complied with the request. JT brought him into handcuffs.

Malcolm stared at the bird floating away, joining the rest of the flock.

Dani brushed past Malcolm and picked the crane up out of the water.

* * *

By the time Dani, JT, and Malcolm piled into the car, they were rank, all of them wanting to go home and shower. To strip off layers of sweat, dirt, and emotion and swirl them dramatically down the drain.

“Good teamwork — that’s the way to do it,” JT encouraged, looking toward the back seat where Malcolm sat.

Malcolm nodded, looking out the window.

“Here,” Dani said, passing him a lollipop on the door side.

“We got him — you could look a little happier,” JT nudged.

“Mhmm,” Malcolm responded, content to suck on the lollipop and think of how things could have been different.

“We’ll drop you home,” JT indicated, pulling out of the park.

“Thanks,” Malcolm said around the lollipop.

“Bright — he’s fine. He’s probably home by now,” Dani reassured.

No thanks to him.

Malcolm stared into the distance, letting his mind wander throughout the drive. He was surprised when the car stopped, took a moment to thank his friends, and got out to walk into his loft.

* * *

After showering, Malcolm put on his coziest sleep pants and long-sleeved shirt and curled into bed. It’d be a while before he could sleep, but he desperately wanted the comfort of a soft place to land.

 _If you’re awake — are you okay?_ Malcolm texted Gil.

The phone buzzed with a call before he could put it down. “I took a long-ass nap — I’ll be up all night,” Gil said, laughing, a rich tone warming Malcolm’s insides.

“Adolpho get you home okay?” Malcolm inquired.

“Yeah — couldn’t convince him to let me drive, though.”

Malcolm chuckled. “My mother show up on you?”

“Nah, only you get that _special_ level of treatment. Not that you deserve — “

“Funny.”

“Get some sleep, kid. I’ll see you at the precinct.”

“Night.”

* * *

Malcolm got to start the conversation with Leonard the next morning, Dani and JT waiting for him behind the glass to take their turn when he was done. Gil hung back in his office, trusting his team to complete the task.

“Where are my birds?” Leonard asked, anxious, his eyes darting toward the door.

Malcolm sat at the table across from Leonard, folding a crane with printer paper. “They’re safe. My friend Edrisa is taking really good care of them.”

Leonard watched Malcolm line up the precise folds, ensuring they were perfectly accurate before creasing them with his thumb. Bend — align — crease. Bend — align — crease. The overseer inspected each step, lulled by the repetition. Leonard grew calm, put together, and sat up straight at the interrogation table, his head bowed a little in respect.

Malcolm held the finished wonder in his hand, checking the overall alignment of the piece, ensuring it was up to snuff. It had been a while since he had made origami, but the standard form was committed to memory.

“Wish it well,” Leonard instructed, his hand miming petting against the table.

Malcolm complied and set the bird off to the side. Leonard’s eyes stayed glued to it.

“That’s where I started. Well, notebook paper actually, but then whatever paper was handy,” Leonard explained.

“You’ve had a lot of practice.”

“I wanted to offer them the best.” Leonard’s eyes returned to the center of the table, his head still slightly lowered.

“Leonard, are you sure you don’t want to call your lawyer? Or we can get you — “

“I know what I did. I don’t need one,” Leonard assured.

“What’s that?”

“If patients were across the river in Jersey, they’d have the option of choosing compassion if that was what they wanted.” He rubbed his thumb against the table, tears in his eyes. “I knew these people, visited them multiple times a week. They were all suffering. So — so much.”

A tear dripped down Leonard’s cheek and he rubbed it away with his shoulder.

“They asked me for help. I told them what I had done for my mother. We talked about it several times, got their wishes in writing, gave them everything they needed.”

“You’re not a doctor.”

“I know. And I know it’s against the law.” Leonard held his lips together, the dam pushing back the flood. “It was what they wanted.”

Malcolm nodded.

“My patients get my best.”

* * *

The team lounged around different parts of the conference table, Dani sitting on the end of it, Malcolm in a chair, JT leaning against the sideboard, and Gil resting with his leg against the edge at the opposite end. They took a moment to debrief together before they got on with the paperwork.

“You know, I don’t disagree with him. The method’s…” Malcolm gave a head tilt. “odd — “

“And _very_ illegal,” JT added.

“But they consented,” Malcolm finished.

“Doesn’t change he’s a murderer,” Dani pointed out.

“Into weird folding ass shit.” JT’s shoulders shivered.

“Provided the materials,” Malcolm corrected. He played with the white crane he had folded out of printer paper between his fingers. “Paper folding dates back to the twelfth century, or even earlier — some say as early as the arrival of paper in Japan in the sixth century.” He held it between two of his fingers, giving it a skim across the air. “It’s actually very poetic. Cranes are birds of happiness — carry souls up to paradise.”

“Romanticizing death,” JT complained. “Should we be worried about you next?”

The crane in Malcolm’s hands took on a new flight path. “If you fold a thousand origami cranes, your wish will come true. Recovery. Peace.”

“You’re empathizing with him,” Dani pointed out.

“Just saying I think I get it.”

“The people died throughout the year — why wait until now?”

“Summer solstice — ascension.” The crane rode toward the ceiling.

JT contributed, “I don’t know who’s creepier — you, or Edrisa grinning while sending off teeth to ID victims.”

Malcolm kept playing with the crane, petting its head, tracing the smooth line along the back, brushing its wings. It reminded him of his dear Sunshine in her grace — he should probably get home to let her out for a glide.

“Lose the crane,” Gil directed, pointing to the bird cradled in Malcolm’s hands.

“Whatever you wish,” Malcolm replied, setting the bird into Gil’s hands.

Gil shook his head, and Malcolm continued out the door.

* * *

Gil and Malcolm sat in Gil’s living room, drinking whiskey. Gil had the air conditioning cranked up so high, Malcolm almost felt cold.

“The last thing I said to you was you’re fired,” Gil remembered, swirling his drink. “That would’ve been…not ideal.”

Malcolm shook his head. “Nah — you almost got that out. _Fff —_ as I recall.”

“Jerk stuck me.” Gil took a sip. “I, uh, wasn’t kidding though. If you pull a stunt like that again, I’m going to have to fire you.”

Malcolm’s eyes watered, recalling the hours waiting in the hospital. “I got it. For real this time.”

Malcolm looked over to the framed pictures of their family along the shelf. “Would she have wanted it to end a different way?” Malcolm tentatively asked, knowing he was overstepping, but curious all the same.

“We never talked about it,” Gil replied. “But that’s the past. No sense getting stuck there.” He swished the amber liquid around his glass again. “What would you want?”

“The option,” Malcolm easily replied. “I don’t know that I’d do it, but I’d like that to be my choice.” Malcolm looked at his glass. “How about you?”

“She stuck it out. So if it comes to it, I suppose I should too.”

“You don’t have — “

“I know. But I feel like I’d owe it to her to fight like she did, even if I could only muster half the strength.”

They sat sipping their whiskeys, independently pondering the woman they loved.

“I’ve got one more for you,” Gil added. “It’s 80 degrees outside. I know it’s your armor, but can I negotiate you down to a t-shirt length button-up?”

Malcolm smiled, looking at the floor. “No one wears those, Gil.”

Gil gave him his best dad voice. “I don’t want a worker’s comp claim over you passing out in the sun. How about a polo?”

Malcolm smirked. “Yes, maybe I can do a polo shirt if we expect to be outside.”

“Alright, kid.”

Malcolm finished his glass of whiskey and stood. “I have a delightful bird to get home to.”

“As long as it’s Sunshine and not paper, I support this message.”

Malcolm rolled his eyes. “Yes, Sunshine. The _best_ bird.”

“Have a good night.”

Gil went for a wave and Malcolm surprised him with a hug. Gil patted his back, taking the extra moment to relish they were both there, okay. When they separated, Malcolm left.

Gil stood at the window, watching Malcolm head out into the sunset.

* * *

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> one paragraph in chapter one came from a flash fic i wrote - everything else og


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